


Politics and Poetics

by faerests



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Romance, F/M, Forgiveness, I'm Sorry, I'm bad at tags, Romance, Slow Burn Romance, gale hawthorne - Freeform, gale hawthorne/madge undersee - Freeform, gale/madge - Freeform, madge undersee - Freeform, madge/gale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29531151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerests/pseuds/faerests
Summary: They weren’t friends. They were nothing to each other, aside from racing heartbeats, and private meetings where trouble could easily find them if they weren’t careful. But, they always were. She was merely the girl who would open the door when he stopped by her father’s house with a mutual friend, and he was only the boy who sold the strawberries. The last he’d heard, she was gone, and she thought he’d died a hero. But, when he enters his office building and accepts the interview from a rather pushy journalist, he is in for the surprise of his life.
Relationships: Gale Hawthorne/Madge Undersee, Gale/Madge
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Prologue: Things We Lost in the Fire

“You’re late.”

The words fall out of her mouth as gracefully as anything she has ever told him does. She’s teasing him, which is evident through the slight smirk curving her mouth and lifting her features. He’s learned to search for these hints, as it’s been far too often when her words can mean the opposite of what she says. When she tells him she hates him, she looks up at him through fluttering lashes and a wide grin, the breeze causing her hair to brush against his skin. There are times, though, when he misinterprets what she says. He’s grateful she never seems to mind explaining and has even trained him to stop himself from arguing with her about everything.

After the months he’s learned to read her, one thing is clear: there is something wrong today. She doesn’t look the way she usually does, with a bright smile on her face that threatens the sunshine—the very smile that makes him want to become Icarus and fly toward her, even if it means he’ll crash and burn in the end. Instead, she resembles Atlas, with the world on her shoulders weighing her down. His mind races, thinking of every potential possibility of what might have been the cause of this abrupt shift in her demeanor. But for now, he chooses to save his questions.

“I know, I’m sorry. I was just bringing the food back to my family.” He doesn’t need to explain, he usually doesn’t. But given how she looks, he doesn’t want to add any stress or any reason for her to feel worse. “Are you ready to go?” He gestures toward the gap in the fence with his hand, and she crawls through without so much as a word or acknowledgment of his apology. He can’t help but frown at the unusual silence.

He watches her as she walks, keeping some distance between the two of them. This way, it’ll be harder for her to look at him, to watch him attempt to figure her out. He knows he’ll never solve the puzzle of her, even when she isn’t acting this way. But it doesn’t take long for the frustration to eat away at him, causing him to want to stop her, and ask what it could possibly be that’s dragging her down.

He draws in a deep breath, walking faster so they are side by side. He looks at her, studying her features one more time before he grabs her by the arm and allows the question to fall out of his mouth: “Madge? What’s wrong?”

She stops and looks at him. Her eyes wander from his eyes to the rest of his frame, as though she’s searching for something. “Let’s just get there first, okay?”

 _There_. A lump forms in his throat, right by the strawberry patches, a place in the woods that welcomes lovers, or friends, or two people in the hazy in-between such as the two of them. Her desire to wait until they’re somewhere safe, a place that involves him, is frightening. But he waits, afraid that if he pushes, she’ll run away from him.

Thankfully, she’s the one who breaks the silence first.

“Gale?” Her voice is soft, a whisper meant only for him. She isn’t looking at him; her eyes are fixated on the laces of her shoes as her fingers fiddle with them. She presses her lips together, heart pounding against her ribcage, afraid that he can hear it. She’s always been aware of the risks they’re taking by being in the meadows together, beyond the fence that is meant to keep them safe from whatever the Capitol is afraid they’ll find on the other side. She also knows the more personal risks of being with him, of being vulnerable and allowing him to see the real her, the person beyond the polite smiles and quietness. There has always been a risk, but she hasn’t felt nervous about it until now. Until she wants him to tell her what she means to him.

“Yeah?” He answers, watching her closely, hoping for a sign that things are going to be alright for the two of them, hoping that she isn’t going to tell him she can’t be with him anymore, that their time has run out and he has to be alone again. He hasn’t been alone here since Katniss had to leave for the games. While he doesn’t mind the solitude, it’s Madge’s company he’ll miss the most.

“Don’t freak out, okay?” It isn’t clear who she’s warning: him or herself.

Nevertheless, her words make him nervous, his heart beginning to palpitate. “Okay.”

“Um.” She lets out a soft nervous laugh. She almost stops herself, but the words come out before she could bite her tongue. “What-what are we?”

“We’re-.” He stops himself in his tracks, his words coming out before he could even think of what to say. Telling her they were merely friends would be a lie. People who are just friends don’t spend hours together in secret, don’t kiss under trees and in between bites of strawberries. Friends don’t lie in each other’s arms and talk about everything there is to talk about. Boys who are just friends with girls don’t smell their hair and memorize it along with their body language. But saying they are lovers might be wrong, because while he’s spending all of his time with her, and while he does have feelings for her, there is someone else that comes to mind when he thinks of the topic of love. Someone they both know is a roadblock between the two of them, and because of that, they rarely mention her. It isn’t that he loves Katniss more than Madge, it’s that he’s never tried with Katniss. And to watch her be with another guy during the games hurts him, a wound he hasn’t gotten over yet. “We’re two people who care a lot about each other. At least, I hope so.”

She raises her gaze and looks at him, her eyes meeting his. She understands that this response could have been worse, and that this is the closest to satisfaction she will ever get from him. Perhaps it’s her fault for falling for someone who’s spent most of his life in love with Katniss. “Do you care? About me, I mean.”

He shifts so he’s closer to her, their shoulders touching. “I do.”

She draws in a deep breath. “Prove it.”

With this, he holds his breath and leans his forehead against hers. His heart races against his ribcage as the space between them thins. Slowly, their lips find one another, and he pulls her closer to him so she’s sitting on his lap. His hands are around her waist now, and he can taste the strawberry-flavored lip balm she’s always worn.


	2. Chapter 1: Do you remember me? Do you remember all that we used to be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale gets a surprise visitor from a face he'd never thought he'd see again.

It is early in the morning and the office building is unusually lively. Chatter and footsteps fill the empty spaces of the floor, and the smell of coffee clings to the air. His entrance only seems to bring on more energy, with people approaching him as though they were moths, and he were a flame. He is met by cheerful greetings, handshakes, and congratulations. Pride fills the office, as though his victory is also theirs, though in a way, with their support, this is true. They are part of the landslide he’s leading the election with.

At first, he entertains the congratulatory crowd, forcing himself to match their enthusiasm. But he quickly tired of this seemingly endless field, and so he excuses himself. He pours himself a cup of coffee and retreats to his office to prepare for the day ahead of him. As he does so, his eyes glaze over the digital clock on his desk, becoming slightly impatient as his friend and campaign manager doesn’t come in until a few hours later, when he’s already wearied of the attention. Some people are still knocking at the window of his office, waving and giving him a thumbs up, which causes him to consider pulling out his headphones, so he’ll have an excuse to ignore them. Nothing they aren’t used to by now.

_“Remember the three Ps, Gale: Punctual. Polite. Positive.”_

He releases a sigh as he begins to fiddle with the documents he has to look through for the day, opening two and moving them around the monitor so they can both be opened at the same time. He taps the end of a pen against his notebook as he skims and scrolls through the pages. His eyes quickly scan the markers that symbolized the comments his officemates have made pertaining these documents. He can’t help but release a groan to himself. He grows bored so easily, he’s thankful when he hears the rhythmic knock on the door.

“Come in, Sophie.” He recognizes her from the knock, the young girl always has her own. She changes it every now and then, depending on what music she’s learnt from the entertainers, but she always makes herself easy to distinguish, which is what he asked of her when she was first hired. This way, he can screen who comes through his office without having to interrupt his work.

At his approval, Sophie opens the door, but only partly. She uses the door and her body as a barrier between his office and the rest of the floor. “Mr. Hawthorne, there’s a woman here to see you. She’s a reporter with The Tribune. She doesn’t have any sort of appointment, so she was hoping she could have a quick word with you. Emphasis on quick.”

“Did you get this reporter’s name?” He furrows his brows and takes the remaining attention he reserved for his work and gives it to his assistant, as she is acting strange. She’ll typically tell him the visitor’s name if one should ever stop by. In fact, she’ll usually call him if someone is there to see him.

“Yes, and she’s got the proper identification. She checks out.” She swallows hard, cheeks flushing from nervousness. “But she asks that she remains anonymous for now. She wants you to see her for yourself. She thinks you wouldn’t believe it. She promises you’ll recognize her, or at least she hopes you would.”

He wants to think that this might be Katniss coming to see him, that what Sophie is saying is untrue, and Katniss told her to say those things because she wants to surprise him. This isn’t because he still has feelings for her, those emotions have long since gone since the first time she returned home from the games, made even worse by the war and rebellion that occurred after that. She hasn’t spoken to him since her sister’s death, since they all went their separate ways. It’s because he can’t think of anyone else it’ll be. It could be Cressida, but then again, he hasn’t seen her since they fought side by side. Her work has kept her busy, so has his.

“Alright, just let her in,” he surrenders to the nonsense.

Sophie smiles and turns around. He doesn’t say anything, but he hears her whisper, “Good luck,” to his visitor.

He hears a breathy, almost familiar laugh along with footsteps. This reporter is wearing heels, which is unlike most of the women he knows. The only woman in his life who wears heels is his campaign manager, and due to the nature of their friendship, she barges into his office whenever she pleases. She’s not the type for a prank either.

But the mystery is quick to end as she steps through the door and shuts it behind her. At first, it is her frame he sees. Her blonde hair is kept out of her face and tied behind her head with a pink ribbon, the style showing off her strongest features: her cheekbones, slightly tinted with a natural peachy pink glow. When she faces him, when his glance meets hers, he grows pale and his mouth dries. A lump forms in his throat as his chest tightens. He loosens his tie, though he is aware that it is not the problem, and gestures toward the seat across from him.

“I must say, Mr. Hawthorne, I never pegged you for a politician.” She smirks as she takes the seat opposite of his desk, crossing her ankles and resting her hands on her lap. He watches her closely, afraid that she might disappear in any moment, that she’s only a ghost created by his guilty conscience. His stomach twists, reminding him of the guilt that took him years to escape from. “You’ve always hated us townspeople.”

He takes a second to regain his composure, though he feels it’s a moment too long. “You know what they say, Miss Undersee. People change. And that was a different time.” He swallows hard, and when he blinks, he’s taken back to that day in District 12. To the bombings. To when he stood outside of her house, watching it burn to the ground. Everyone told him she was inside, and that she couldn’t have survived. All that was left was ashes and pieces of blonde hair that didn’t burn. “Besides, you’ve always hated journalists.”

He can’t help but allow a smile to bloom on his features. There is a mixture of emotions stirring within him. Relief for one, that she is still alive, that she’s here in front of him, joking and smiling as though nothing bad ever happened between them. Anger, because she allowed him to think she’s been dead all these years. Sadness, that they couldn’t have spent more time together, that it ended the way it did, that he didn’t get a chance to tell her he was in love with her. And anger again, toward himself, for not making sure that she was actually gone, for simply just taking everybody’s word for it, for not looking for her, for not picking up the paper often enough to perhaps see her name on the byline of an article.

“Oh, please,” she shakes her head with a roll of her blue eyes. “The only so-called journalist we knew then was Flickerman, and we both know he was more of a gossiper than an actual journalist.”

“Fair enough,” he replies simply. “So, about this interview…”

“Right, you’re probably busy. I should’ve waited until you were off, but I didn’t have a clue as to where you live or where I’d find you. I apologize for that. Let’s get started, shall we?” She asks, reaching into her purse to take out her voice recorder. She sets it on his desk and pulls out her notepad and a pen.

She starts him off with an easy question: how does he feel about the poll results? Despite the number of times he’s practiced for an occasion like this, he doesn’t answer her perfectly. He stumbles through some sentences, uses too many filler words for his liking, and can’t bring himself to focus. No amount of practice could prepare him for what seems like the resurrection of his deceased lover. He can’t help but to allow his mind to go back in time to when life was both simpler and more complicated, to their days before the rebellion and during Katniss’s turn in the games. And he can still see it clearly, a younger version of the two of them, running through a field of grass, him trying to lose her but her always finding her way back to him. A younger version of the two of them arguing, yet still coming back to each other. A younger version of himself watching as she dances and spins, her blonde hair dancing with the breeze, and him smiling as he picks the grass off the field. And when he can tell she’s getting dizzy, he’ll get up and hold his arms out for her, preparing to catch her if she falls. Except, if he recalls this correctly, she did fall for him, and he let her slip through his fingers. His greatest regret.

As promised, the interview doesn’t last long. She informs him that this interview will be featured in a small section, just a blurb about the elections which they will include with the results.

She collects her things and puts them in her small bag. “Look for the article in a couple of days. Thank you for agreeing to see me this morning, Mr. Hawthorne. I hope you have a fantastic day. Make sure you celebrate.” She stands from the seat and gives him a smile before she turns to exit. But he can’t let her leave without saying anything.

“Madge?” He calls, immediately wishing he hadn’t, as he doesn’t quite know what to say. So, he gives her a smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for reading! Any reviews and kudos are highly appreciated. I hope you enjoy! The next chapter will be posted next Saturday.


	3. Chapter 2: Take Me Back to the Start, Before We Broke Each Other's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale and Madge run into each other during his lunch break and ask each other the questions they've wanted to ask.

It has almost been a week since the moment that has altered every single thought he’s had about the rebellion. It has almost been a week since he’s wondered who else he thought was dead is actually still alive, roaming Panem somewhere, and doing well. And ever since he and Madge have crossed paths, she’s all he could think about. Madge is like that, hard to forget, and even harder to let go of. Despite all the arguments the two of them have, he credits her for teaching him the softness he’s long forgotten. After she was gone, he couldn’t help but fight with himself for how he treated her, and for not realizing how he truly felt about her until it was too late, until there was nothing he could do. And now, it seems the universe is giving him another chance.

He decides he needs a breath of fresh air. It’s lunch time and he’s been in the office since early in the morning, going back and forth between his work and campaign planning with his manager and friend. He has been informed of the appearances he needs to make, which makes him feel comfortable, as he’s never been too good at networking, and now he’s dependent upon this skill. Fortunately, he is allowed a break, considering the progress he’s made in his work and his campaign manager’s claim that she doesn’t need him.

Whilst having an hour to himself, he doesn’t stray too far from the office building, which is in the heart of the District, where there are plenty of places for him to eat and shop if he so desires. But, he isn’t necessarily attracted to the things they would sell. Most are luxurious items—perfumes, soaps, jewellery, makeup—he has no interest in that. He would only purchase an item like that if it were for a friend or family member, rarely for himself. Years of living with hardly enough has taught him that.

The music is what attracts him in the instrument shop. Usually, when there’s music, it’s being played by an amateur, most often a child who is just learning or fooling around at the shop during their days off from school. But today, the music is good. Someone is playing the piano and it sounds beautiful, almost familiar. So, he can’t help but enter the shop to see who the musician is and why he recognizes the song.

She is the first thing he sees as he walks toward the back of the shop where the music is louder, as it is where the pianos are kept. She is playing one of the two grand pianos on display, her eyes closed, dainty fingers jumping off and landing softly on their respective keys. He waits for her to finish the piece, leaning against the wall as he continues to watch in awe. He knows why the song is familiar now – it is the same one she would hum when they were together, walking through the meadows beyond District 12, and looking for the perfect place to settle down and talk. A song that her mother had made up for her, a lullaby.

When it ends, he smiles and approaches her, his own fingers trailing over the wood of the piano. “I didn’t know you could play.” This isn’t exactly true. He’s heard rumors from Katniss that she could, that Katniss had heard Madge play at their school, or when they were delivering strawberries to their house and Madge wasn’t the one who answered the door. But he never paid attention. He didn’t care enough to believe if it were true, in the time before he realized what she meant to him.

Madge looks at him, a smile blossoms on her features. “There are a lot of things we don’t know about each other. Especially now.”

“I guess you’re right.” His gaze momentarily shifts to the ground, before meeting her eyes again. He smiles. “Well, maybe we should fix that.”

“We should. I think we owe that to each other. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” She sees the discomfort on his features as she speaks, which causes her heart to falter. She almost wants to reach out and hold his hand, but she refrains, as they’ve grown up and things between them are so different now. “It’s okay, Gale. We have a lot of things to talk about, and I have some questions for you, too.”

He softens at her reassurance, the warmth in his smile returns to his features, eager to get to know her again, to see how she’s changed if she has at all. “Are you free right now?”

She looks down at her wrist, adorned by a small watch with a pale pink strap, complimenting the color of her blouse. “For about another hour or so.”

He nods. “Perfect. Me too. There’s a bakery down the street, I could smell it from just outside of this shop. What do you say we head out?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She collects her things, and they walk to the bakery together, though it is a quiet few minutes as they both think of questions to ask each other once they reach their destination. She grows more and more nervous of the kinds of questions he may ask with each step of the way. He might inquire about her family, if the rest of them survived, or if it was just her. And once he finds out the truth, he might think of her as selfish, and may not want to see her again.

Once they’ve entered the shop, he insists she takes a seat as he orders them two strawberry shortcakes and two coffees with creamers and sugar on the side, as he’s unaware of how she likes to drink it. She’s never drank coffee around him when they were younger, and she didn’t refuse when he mentioned the coffee. She sees no point in arguing with him, so she chooses a seat a little further in the back of the bakery, avoiding the windows. It would be bad publicity if they were seen together, as she’s done an interview with him, and hopes to continue to write articles on Panem’s new politics.

He returns with their food and coffee just minutes later, and for a moment, they sit in a familiar silence. The space between them is never empty, often occupied by the things neither of them can say to one another, and they have adapted this into their relationship, from the very beginning to its abrupt end. To now, this reconnection, this rekindling.

“I guess I’ll start if you don’t want to,” she speaks as she uses the fork to puncture holes into the cake. “Let’s start with something easy, I hope. How’s everyone doing now? But… spare me the deaths. Just tell me who’s still alive, and how they’re doing, if you know. Like your mom and siblings? Katniss and Peeta? Any of the others that are still alive?”

His throat tightens at the mention of Katniss and Peeta. This has never been a good topic between the two of them. She had always known of how he felt about Katniss when they were younger, and how gradual moving on from her was. “Katniss and Peeta are a happy ending, but I’m sure you’ve heard that. They did the whole marriage and kids thing.” He can see the pity flash across her eyes, and he wishes it didn’t appear. While it took him the majority of the time he spent with Madge to move on from Katniss, it was Madge he constantly thought of during and after the rebellion, and how he wished he had her to fight for and come home to. After thinking he’s lost her forever, it became easier to accept that he and Katniss weren’t meant to be together. Besides, after the rebellion, after doing everything they thought he could to support their case, she became angry with him for helping build the bombs that killed her sister. After everything, though, nothing hurt as much as thinking Madge was gone.

“I’m sure she would’ve wanted you at her wedding,” he adds with a smile, hoping to comfort her. “As for my family, they’re still in District 12. I guess they’re too used to the idea of living there to leave. Their whole lives are there. Their school, their friends. But they’re doing great. Posy’s at the top of her class, you know. The brains of the family.”

Madge grins at the mention of his sister. “Posy’s at the top of her class, huh? I always knew she was brilliant. And what about you? How are you doing? Especially after all you’ve been through.”

“Me? I—uh, I don’t really have anything to say. I haven’t been doing much that you haven’t already heard of. This campaign is the only notable thing I’ve done since the rebellion,” he says, chuckling softly as he takes a bite of the cake. “My campaign manager, Thea, says I’m married to my work.” He shrugs loosely, feeling almost pathetic from the confession. “What about you? Have you been writing long?”

“I’m alright. Happy to be alive, I guess. I haven’t been writing long, though. I used to just do research for other journalists. Fact checking and all of that. For a while, I was too afraid to put my name out there.” She gives him an uneasy shrug before taking a sip of her coffee. “But I bet you want to ask the real question.”

He furrows his brows, though he remains silent, afraid that she can see right through him.

“The ‘how am I here with you right now when you thought I died’ question.” She says it casually, words falling off her tongue as if they hold no weight to her. He can’t help but wonder if it’s because she’s rehearsed what to say to him, too.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nods.

She takes another sip of her coffee and clears her throat before starting, her nerves slowly taking a hold of her. But she shoves these thoughts aside, even if it’s just for a moment. “Um…someone told my father that they were going to bomb District 12. They didn’t tell us days in advance, no. We were told about ten minutes before the planes were set to arrive. My father told me to go, and that he was right behind me. I don’t know what happened. He must’ve been getting supplies and helping my mom, or something.” She pauses to catch her breath, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “Um. I got in the truck, and that’s when I felt the explosion. I looked back toward my house and it was gone. The driver and I waited for five minutes, but my parents never came and it was getting too dangerous for us to stay. We had to leave so he took off.” She swallows hard, looking at him, but his expression is unreadable, the way it always is when he’s with her. “I wish I could’ve told people, I do. But the driver was trying to get out of there as fast as he can. My dad’s friend dropped me off at 10, and I stayed there for a little bit. It was safe for a while, but eventually it caught the wind of the rebellion. I started to help the hospitals for the rebels, but it got too dangerous. So, I ended up going to 1, then 3, and then 4. Eventually, after the rebellion, I decided to start over here.”

It takes him a moment to register everything she just told him. He looks at her and her watery eyes, and he wishes he could just pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be alright, the way he did in his dreams during and after the rebellion. But that wouldn’t be appropriate, and so he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and puts his hand on hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Madge, I’m so sorry. About your parents, about everything,” he speaks softly, an apologetic whisper reserved only for her. “Your family, I—I could’ve gotten them out.”

She immediately shakes her head at his words. “Don’t. It’s alright, Gale. Don’t do that to yourself, please.” She places her other hand on top of his and gives him a warm, genuine smile. “You’re a hero, Gale. From what I’ve heard, you’ve gotten hundreds of people out. You’ve done so much. You’ve done more than enough.”

“I guess. But, to be honest with you, I wish I could’ve saved just one.” He gives her a small smile, wanting to say: _Yours_. “But that doesn’t matter now. So, did you know about any of us? That we’re still alive, and all of that?” He can’t help but ask. Has she been living in the shadows, watching them all this time? Or has she tried to forget them like they’ve done with her?

“The last time I’ve heard about what happened to anyone I already knew, it was during the rebellion,” she answers, shaking her head. “Johanna is avoiding the spotlight, I think. And Finnick, well, I know that he died from the Quarter Quell. I actually helped look after his son for a bit, since his wife wasn’t, um, coping well.” Her heart grows heavy with the words, a pain she can only imagine. Secretly, she wonders if Gale felt Annie’s when he thought that she was dead. “The most I heard about you until now was during the rebellion, how you saved all those people. But after that, nothing. I was really glad, though, when I saw your name in the running.”

He gives her a warm smile. “I’m really glad you made it, Madge. I thought I lost you for good.”

She returns the smile, eyes bright with hope. “Yeah. You too, Gale.”

They finish their treats in their familiar, comfortable silence, exchanging stolen glances at each other every now and then. When they say goodbye, Gale is in a daze. The girl he thought he lost so many years ago—mostly due to his own foolishness, only partly due to circumstance—is alive and well after all. And she’s here. The universe has found a way to pull them back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading this everyone! It means a lot!


	4. Chapter 3: Just Because I Love You Doesn't Make You Less Annoying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale spends time with his good friend, Thea, who he informs about Madge still being alive despite what he's told her before. Gale's uncertain of how he feels.

He is outside of his home, smoke from the grill in his eyes, and the smell of charcoal burning in the air. It is strange to smell coal and not be covered in dust and dirt. Thea is sitting on one of the lawn chairs he has out on the backyard, with an opened bottle of whiskey in hand. Weekends like these are a common occurrence, a time for two friends to catch up with one another and spending what they would consider quality time. Due to how often they see each other, though, there aren’t any new stories to tell, and when there aren’t, they would drink their whiskeys in silence with the radio or television in the background or joke around about their futures.

This time, though, he has something to tell her. He just doesn’t know where to start. But between the two of them, it doesn’t matter. Thea’s always been good at picking him apart and knowing when something’s on his mind. This is a skill she’s adapted and evolved when they met during the rebellion.

“So, tell me, hotshot, what’s got you all worked up this week?” She takes a swig of the whiskey, though she doesn’t take her eyes off him. He tries to ignore her stare, but he can feel her gaze boring into his skin, creating a hole in his bones.

She isn’t wrong – she never is. Ever since he saw Madge, he’s been distracted. He tries to focus on his work and the campaign, but he can’t get his mind off the blonde who’s been writing reports about him and his competition. Now, he finds himself searching the bylines of every article he comes across for a chance it’s one of her pieces. Some things can’t be left in the past. Especially if there was never truly an ending to them.

He lets out a sigh and lets a moment of silence fall between the two of them. He almost decides to shake his head and act as though nothing is wrong, that it’s just the nerves from the upcoming elections, but this isn’t true and she knows it. From the moment they became friends, they’ve never been able to keep secrets from each other. They’re two peas in a pod, and they know each other like the back of their hands.

“Madge,” he confesses through a sigh. “It’s Madge, Thea.”

He looks at her and watches her eyebrows furrow in confusion. They’ve beaten this topic to death long ago, back when he was still mourning the losses from the rebellion. “ _The_ Madge? _The one that got away_ , Madge? Are you still not over her? It’s been years, Gale. I’m sorry, but that girl is long gone.” She hands him the bottle of whiskey she’s holding. “Why are you even still thinking of her? Is it because you’re running as mayor and her father was the mayor? Is that what’s reminding you of her?”

“No, that’s not it,” Gale answers, accepting the bottle of whiskey and drinking from it. “She’s not gone. I mean, she was for a while. I thought she was. But she’s actually alive, Thea. She’s a journalist now, for The Tribune.”

Thea’s eyes widen in surprise, a slight smile curving her lips. “Wait, she’s alive? What’s the problem, then? This is great news! I mean, if you still feel that way, which you obviously do, otherwise you wouldn’t be so fazed.”

“There’s no problem,” he shrugs. “I guess it’s just that…I don’t know. I can’t really wrap my head around it. And you know that interview I did the day after the poll results came out? Before you came to work? She was the journalist I spoke to.”

“ _She_ wrote that article? Damn, I really need to start reading bylines.” Thea’s eyes widen and she almost releases a laugh. Instead, she’s grinning widely. “But no wonder she was so nice about you. ‘ _Speaking to Mr. Hawthorne has been such an honor.’_ Sorry, hotshot, but talking to you isn’t all that special.”

He chuckles, feeling warmth rush to his cheeks when Thea quotes Madge’s article. “You say that now, but you’ll wind up agreeing with her when I become Mr. Mayor and you have to make appointments just to come see me.”

She raises her eyebrows, challenging him. “Except you’re never going to do that to your best friend and campaign manager. I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t do that to Madge, either. You’re a real softy when it comes to her.”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at her comment as he turns the chicken he’s grilling over. “I saw her after the interview, while I was on break.”

“Is that why you went on an hour-long break?” Thea laughs. “You took her on a quick date?”

He shoots her a glare. “It wasn’t a date. We were just catching up, since you know, I thought she’s been dead this entire time.”

“Right, okay,” the mood shifts, and she gets closer to him, a friend speaking to a friend.

He sighs and takes another swig of the whiskey. It’s been too long since he thought he’d lost Madge, and the time they’ve spent together recently has been too brief. He is unable to be certain of anything now. At the moment, he’s just grateful she’s still alive, and that she doesn’t hate him for not trying to save her when he saved everyone else.

He remembers a time when his answer was a little more certain, and how long it took for him to recognize his own feelings. It’s true what she and Katniss thought, that he hated her, though it was more of the people like her than the girl herself. Those with privilege, who never have to worry about how they’re going to get food on the table, how they’re never going to have to double the number of names they have in the Reaping just to be able to feed their family. But, while Katniss was in the first round of the games she volunteered in, he had grown to adore her softness and how careful she was of everything despite being the safest person in the District, aside from her father. At that time, his feelings for Katniss were too strong for him to even look at her in the way he did in their last months together. Then after Katniss’s rejection, and her being forced to return to the arena for the Quarter Quell, he became more certain of how he felt for Madge, and that feeling strengthened with every moment they spent together. It was then that he really opened himself up and got to know Madge, and it was in the meadows where they’d share hidden kisses that he convinced himself didn’t mean anything. Even if it did, Madge wasn’t naïve. She was aware of how he felt for Katniss, and the last thing Gale would have wanted was to make her feel like she was second choice when it was her who was teaching him what love truly is, her who Gale was falling for like he never had before.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this work! If you're curious about my other works or want to follow my wattpad, my username there is also @lilbabykriz, as is on twitter though my writing specific one is @heistsclub!


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